Amazing in Red
by Alley Cat Sunflower
Summary: The TARDIS has never liked Clara, so of course she isn't about to give her a comfortable bed. Eventually, Clara takes matters into her own hands and takes over the Doctor's room instead. How exactly is Eleven going to react? Fluffy oneshot! T for reasons. I do not own Doctor Who! If I did, there'd have been snogging in The Rings of Akhaten.


"Clara," began the Doctor, leaning against the doorway in what he hoped was a stern way, "this happens to be _my _bedroom." He had stood there for a few moments, warily observing the closed-eyed girl under his covers, before taking a chance and deciding to confront her.

Clara opened her eyes and smiled, stirring faintly. "Doesn't look like you use it much. What, don't aliens like you sleep at all?" The Doctor's mouth twitched, automatically reciprocating her smile, but he forced it back. This was no time for giving up. If he let her get away with this, who knew what else she would try?

"Of course I sleep!" exclaimed the Doctor, though he couldn't remember when last he had. Even though Time Lords, as with most living beings, needed some kind of rest, they certainly didn't need as many hours as humans. Three or four could sustain them quite long enough. "But that's really beside the point," he added, approaching half-uncertainly. "Now, get out of my bed. You've been sleeping perfectly well in your own since you came on board. Haven't you?" he added, as an afterthought. He really hadn't asked.

Smilingly, Clara shook her head. "You try out my bed and see how restful it is! No wonder you said all your companions leave you in the end." She raised her eyebrows. "Unless I'm _not_ sleeping in the same bed as all your other girlfriends? Where were they, here with you?" She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

"They're not my girlfriends, and no, you're not, and no, they weren't!" snapped the Doctor, but Clara's smile cut him off before he could lecture her on respect. Specifically, respect for a man who was a thousand years old with a machine which could fly them through time and space, and who had gone out of his way to find her and take her along for the ride.

"None of them?" giggled Clara disbelievingly, readjusting her position under the sheets. "None? You said you were a grandfather once! Still don't know how _that _works," she added to herself, giving him an appraising sort of look.

"I didn't—they're not—" spluttered the Doctor, turning red and running out of ways to curb his unruly companion. "Stop it!" he added desperately, when Clara just gave him a knowing smile and burst out laughing again.

"Blimey, bit more than just a _snogging _booth!" she chortled after awhile, and sat up. Her chocolate-brown hair was just as perfect as ever, and her eyes—reminiscent of his own, a lifetime ago—gleamed with mischief. "I'm not moving," she added. "I wasn't lying when I said my bed isn't comfortable. The TARDIS never liked me."

The Doctor just sighed. She did tend to have issues with harboring impossible beings, such as Jack Harkness (bless his immortal, flirtatious heart). "That's not my problem," he decided eventually. "Get out."

"Or what?" Her voice, while innocent, held something of a challenge.

"Or I'm getting in."

Clara rolled her eyes. "That's not much of an incentive. Are you always this threatening, or is it a show just for me?" Shifting a bit to make more room on the other side of the bed, she closed her eyes again. The Doctor, meanwhile, was still trying to make sure he'd heard correctly.

"You're not leaving?" he asked weakly, frantically wondering what he could possibly do next.

"Nope." Clara snuggled into his favorite pillow, prompting him to seethe silently to himself. "Good night," she added, voice muffled by the fluff. The Doctor wished she wasn't so cute as he gathered up his pajamas, stormed out of the room, and changed in the open privacy of the console room.

As he did so, he wondered what he'd done to deserve someone like this. _I killed all the Time Lords. _That would account for why she was so sweetly stubborn. _But I've saved the earth too many times to count. _That would explain her aggravating attractiveness. Her very personality compelled him to bend to her will, and he resented it in the most eager way.

When he arrived back in his own bedroom, Clara wasn't asleep, but instead straightening out the bedclothes as though he wasn't about to get in and mess them up again. "Ha!" he exclaimed, pointing and making her jump. "You're out of…" The Doctor suddenly noticed what she was wearing.

It wasn't especially special. Just a nondescript, somewhat short red nightgown with thin straps. It occurred to the Doctor that she looked amazing in red, but his thoughts weren't even clear enough to pull that out from their tangled mess. That hadn't happened since the Rose days.

"What, Doctor?" asked Clara, looking genuinely nonplussed as she accidentally stirred the Doctor out of his somewhat confused thoughts. "What is it?"

"…time," finished the Doctor, though that hadn't been what he had been about to say. In fact, he had been quite literally about to pick her up and set her down in the hall before going to bed alone. "You should be asleep. What are you still doing up, anyway?"

"I was just making the bed!" protested Clara as he hurried her under the covers.

"Yeah, well, don't." He kissed her forehead distractedly, more of an effort to get his body to do _something _(as his mind tried to figure itself out) than an actual gesture of affection, though his hearts begged him to do more. "Good night!"

"Aren't you staying?" called Clara confusedly, but the Doctor sprinted out of his room before she could get up and stop him, locking her in from the outside with the clever use of his sonic screwdriver, with him even in his pajamas.

Leaning against the wall as though he had just run a mile, the Doctor closed his eyes and let out a sigh. It wasn't long before he began pacing, more agitated than he had been in a long time. This was not something he could fix, since nothing was broken, not even his hearts. This was not a black-and-white issue, either, as he had good reasons both to indulge himself and to restrain himself.

It was over an hour before he worked up the courage to unlock the door, wincing and hushing his screwdriver as the lock clicked open. If Clara's bed honestly wasn't comfortable, he had no wish to be in it. Besides, this was _his_ bed, and he wasn't going to be afraid of some girl a foot shorter than him just because she happened to be there too. He wasn't planning on anything happening anyway. So why was he trembling so much?

Approaching his bed, barely visible in the dark, he hesitated before lifting up the covers on one side and almost slid in, but jumped back with a yelp as Clara sat up abruptly, gasping and looking around. The Doctor shrank into the shadows, forgetting for a moment that his senses were sharper than hers in the dark, and watched as she glanced around suspiciously before settling back down again.

He waited much longer than he knew he should have. The whole time, he thought of all the things he had faced without fear, and here he was, reluctant to get into his own bed because someone else was already in it. To be fair to himself, it _had _been awhile, and he wasn't going to pretend he didn't want to take advantage of the situation, but at the same time, she seemed so… innocent.

But he couldn't have been the first. She didn't seem like…

The Doctor jerked his mind away from thinking about the subject too much, even though he was hopelessly past that point. Instead, he focused on how much time had elapsed since his last encounter with Clara. At least ten minutes. Enough for her to get back to sleep, certainly.

Tiptoeing carefully around the bed, he repeated the procedure on the other side, this time _without_ any embarrassing incidents. Settling onto his back with a sigh, he kept his eye on the ceiling, every nerve in his body jangling, expecting her to wake up and slap him or something.

Nothing happened for at least an hour of tormented contemplation. When Rose had been around, he hadn't even hesitated. He had just let himself feel what he felt. But then, he had been a different man. He hadn't been ashamed of his feelings, and—though it had taken him until too late to be candid—he definitely hadn't been shy.

Here and now, he was not so lucky. The gamble of regeneration had left him with just as much of a drive as ever, but no means to fulfill it this time around. Last time, he would have been able to seduce anyone he wanted, but simply hadn't needed to, unless you counted Queen Elizabeth the First, which was an honest mistake no matter what anyone said. Since then, there had just been Mata Hari—who hadn't exactly stayed to chat—and River, who was inexplicably devoted to him but could never provide him stability. The timelines refused to allow them that small happiness.

And he couldn't help what he felt. Clara Oswin Oswald, the impossible girl, was the only mystery worth solving, and the only one whose heart he now sought, whether he liked it or not. And like it or not, he had a feeling he was going to get it someday. The way her hair cascaded down her shoulders, and the way her eyes lit up whenever they saw someplace or sometime new, made his hearts beat just a little faster.

The Doctor eventually drifted off into fitful sleep, dreaming of what mustn't be, and could have been but hadn't, and wasn't ever but might have some other time and place, and—most importantly—fragments of what _could_ be… if he wasn't quite so careful.

When he awakened, he thought he must still be dreaming. Clara was curled up next to him. Not only was Clara curled up next to him, Clara was much shorter than him, and as such, her nightgown afforded him a point of view he almost wished he didn't have. Almost.

And until she woke up, reflected his early-morning, dream-ridden, lonely mindset, that view was his to cherish.

**((First Eleven/Clara fic, which kind of surprises me, since I ship it so much! I don't know when this could possibly take place, but for right now, it's wishful thinking.))**


End file.
